Mangos

This Mexico Summer was different from all others.
I thought I'd be able to handle it... her absence, but I couldn't.
Within minutes of entering my aunt's house, I felt the tears building.
I told myself I'd imagine my grandmother was in the U.S., visiting my uncle... but it was impossible.

I would fight back tears at random times of the day... in random parts of town. Everything was connected to my little grandma.
I expected to hear her voice, see her little body on her bed...
Pero nada.

Mom would wake up at the crack of dawn and head over to Grandma's bed. She would lay there and cry until her eyes puffed. Every day.

Today marks a year... and I still miss her. I miss her bad.
I can't really come to terms with the fact that she now only lives in my heart.
I'll never hear her shuffle her feet... or whistle some imaginary song of hers... or even catch her staring at me on Sunday mornings as I get ready for church.
If I ever want to visit her, I must come to terms with seeing this:

But I do have a secret weapon when it comes to beating the sadness.
I just have to think of a very pleasant memory made back in 2008:

It was a gorgeous, Mexico afternoon with a slight, cool breeze.
It had rained the entire night prior.
The rose bushes in the front yard were in full bloom, and even the birds were chirping.
Mom pulled out a chair to the front yard and invited grandma to sit outside in the shade, which she did.
Sister and I decided to join, but we sat on the grass next to grandma.
Grandma, Sister, and I looked out at the roses, while Mom peeled mangos in front of us.
The fresh smell of mango...

Mom started cutting the mango into cubes and adding lime and chili powder... placing the skin on a separate plate to "throw away."
Mom gave us the cubes to share with grandma, while she ate what was left on the seed.
Grandma went straight for the skin... and started to eat what was left on it.
Mom: Mom!! That's going in the trash! Eat the meaty part of the mango that I cut into cubes for you!
Grandma: Oh, you shush! I like the skin!
Me: Oooo! Mom got scolded! Take that, little lady!
And we all laughed... even my very quiet grandma.

Clear blue skies to stare at... the mixing of the smell of roses, wet dirt, and mango... the cool breeze on our face... the bittersweet taste of mango con chile... and best of all, the sound of laughter.
There we were, three generations of Garcia girls... having a moment (EWW! I just realized there's a fucking movie about this!! Way to kill my fucking memory, America Ferrera! But that's what happens when you have the Spanish equivalent of English's "Smith" for a last name. I guess I just found my much needed comic relief for the day).

And that soothes me... that is where my grandma lives.